When I was a little girl I was never allowed to wear black. I remember being especially aggrieved about a black velvet dress I saw one year at Wanamakers at Christmas time: it had a plaid sash and is still perfect in memory. My mother thought black was inappropriate for small children, a ban which she made worse by wearing a little black dress when she went out at night that looked fantastic. Slash of Revlon Fire and Ice lipstick, heels, that dress: that was what I thought being grown-up meant. Guess what color dominates my wardrobe now? Lets put it this way; I consider gray a pastel. So just a warning: if you meet me on tour, I will probably be wearing black. If the dry cleaning cycle has worked out, there could be a red jacket, or a white shirt (although my tendency to spill means that there may be a scarf as well.) But there will certainly be one of my 18 pairs of black pants involved, and I may well be in black head to toe. My key to packing a carry-on is a single dominant color way, although in my case its a no-color way. Part of this is because I am a New Yorker, and black is our national color. Part is my mothers fault. She should have let me buy that velvet dress.
Posted on: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 18:43:43 +0000
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